


The Way Home

by bittenfeld



Category: Hickey & Boggs, I Spy, I Spy (1965)
Genre: Film Noir, Graphic Dialogue, M/M, Pre-Slash, Slash, pimps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 04:30:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3796762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittenfeld/pseuds/bittenfeld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a one-page beginning of a story.  Robert Culp and Bill Cosby of “I Spy” starred in a 1972 film-noir about a pair of gritty run-down private eyes.  Cosby played Hickey and Culp was Boggs. Because I love I-Spy-Kelly/Scotty-ship, of course I had to put Hickey/Boggs together as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way Home

The working crowd had gone home by now, home to air-conditioned residences; and the party crowd was moving out onto the downtown streets, hoping the twilight air might finally cool down a little. Of course, the winos and the beggars and the hookers were still plying their respective trades. Their jobs didn’t end at five PM, and they didn’t have air-conditioned domiciles to return to.

But even they weren’t having much luck tonight. Business was slow on this hot Indian summer night. Two weeks of hundred-plus temperatures pretty much scuttled generous spirits, and brought out the bitch in everyone.

Like the pimp berating one of his charges on the corner of Market & 8th. Probably the girl hadn’t made her quota for the day, or maybe tried to keep a little extra for herself. Whatever, it earned her a fist to the side of the face that staggered her into the rough-walled grey-stone building. She was going to have to apply a thicker coat of make-up now before she could entice her next john of the evening.

Five stories up, ever the voyeur, Frank Boggs surveilled the scene below, while a humorless smile quirked his lips. Wouldn’t do any good to call the cops – hookers were low on their priority list, and even if they wanted to bust every pimp working over a girl, they couldn’t spend their entire shift patrolling these few blocks of prime downtown real estate. Besides, by the time they arrived, the girl wouldn’t press charges anyway.

He sucked another drag of the unfiltered Camel, then reached up to pinch an errant bit of tobacco from the tip of his tongue. Voyeur – that’s exactly what he was, he and partner Al Hickey. That’s what they got paid for – when they got paid. Peeping Toms. Peeping into other people’s lives, other people’s secrets, other people’s dirt. Hell, somebody had to do it. At least they were honest, did the job they were paid for. That just made good business sense. That way the cops didn’t bust them, the City Attorney let them keep their licenses, and their clients didn’t try to bump them off – usually.

Boggs watched as the pimp shoved the girl into the front passenger seat of a gold-trimmed white Caddy and slammed the door. He wondered if she’d be back later tonight or not. Job security wasn’t real great in their line of work. Of course, that hadn’t stopped any of them yet. Across the street, two young male hookers in cut-off muscle shirts paid no heed to the drama. It was healthier not to. Besides, it really wasn’t news-worthy anyway.

Another drag of the harsh smoke, and Boggs rolled it around with his tongue.

Across the grungy little room, Al Hickey wiped his .44 Magnum one more time. Boggs quirked a little grin to himself. Hickey treated that gun like a lover – well, at least it was more loyal to him than that ex-wife of his.

Wryly the seated man watched his partner at the window. “That little boy-toy of yours out cruising tonight?”

Frank just shook his head, gaze still scanning the street-life. “Nah. I haven’t seen him for a couple of days. Maybe he’s moved to a better corner.”

“Or maybe Rodrigo finally found himself a sugar-daddy,” Hickey suggested, adding with a straight face, “ – maybe someone who could afford more than twenty bucks a pop.”

At that, Boggs tossed him a sidelong glance, then turned his interest back to the outdoor scene, as he commented, “You in the mood tonight?”

But the black man just kept up his polishing. “Shit no, I’m never in the mood. That’s not my thing, man. Find us a couple of chicks, and maybe I’ll take you up on it.”

Boggs talked around the cigarette between his lips. “I don’t ask very often,” he reminded soberly.

“Why don’t you ask one of the tomcats downstairs? There must be some out tonight.”

The white man observed the two fags across the street. “Yeah, they’re there.”

“Or go ask ‘em where Rodrigo is. Maybe they know.”

But Boggs just shook his head. “Rodrigo doesn’t have what I want right now.”

“Well, what have I got that Rodrigo doesn’t?” Hickey inquired.

Now Frank flashed a tiny ironic smile his way. “A bigger dick.”

Hickey grinned, but didn’t look at his partner. “You like it up the ass, don’t you?”

Boggs just shrugged.

“Doesn’t Rodrigo give it to you up the ass?”

“Yeah, when I ask him to. But it’s not the same.”

. . . . .


End file.
